


that deathless death

by aulishe



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Derogatory Language, Dom/sub Undertones, Homophobia, Humiliation, Implied Consent, M/M, Possessive Behavior
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-22
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:00:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25880233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aulishe/pseuds/aulishe
Summary: The Washingtons are kind. Their son is not.He's too loud – his voice booms through the walls the very hour that John is trying to sleep. He's too abrasive – says what he wants when he wants. He's too arrogant – thinks of himself as a gift from God. He's honest to a fault, says whatever he aches to say without a filter.So, maybe, John shouldn't have been too shocked when Alex pulled him away from dinner and to their adjoined rooms only to tell him to suck his dick.
Relationships: Alexander Hamilton/John Laurens
Comments: 28
Kudos: 67





	1. every sunday's getting more bleak

**Author's Note:**

> take me to church prompted the whole thing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alex is still staring expectantly at him as he raises his gaze and there’s something unreadable in those eyes – it’s bright, it’s fierce, it’s _there_ but John can’t figure what.

“Jack, I want you on your best behavior tonight.”

He’s doodling mindlessly on his notebook as his father says it, the words nothing but a soundless echo in his ears. He shrugs lazily as a response, drawing wild lines over his messy sketch of a begonia. He hears his father speak once more but he doesn’t bother paying attention, knowing his father’s merely ranting about what John should do, what John should say, what John should wear. John never follows him anyway – if he tells John to wear blue, he’ll go out wearing pink. He gets scolded every time. He doesn’t find it in himself to care.

He lets his posture slump when his father leaves the room, rolling his eyes. His father has always made a big fuss about ‘sitting straight.’ One time his father caught Pat sitting with slumped shoulders, he spoke for two hours straight about the long-lasting effects of poor posture. John learned to keep his back arched as much as he can when his father’s in the room. He wouldn’t dare waste the two precious hours of his life over his father’s irritating rants of what they’re doing wrong. He’s wasted enough.

“Yo, Jack,” he briefly looks up from his notebook to see Pat by the threshold of the door, biting on her nails nervously, leaning against the frame as she waits for John’s response.

“Yo, Pat,” he says, switching to a blank spot to sketch a yarrow. When he doesn’t hear Pat respond, he furrows his eyebrows and looks up to see her fiddling nervously with her sleeves. He tilts his head in confusion. “Are you alright? You seem nervous.”

“The Washingtons are coming today!” she blurts out, her tone an odd mix of excitement and nervousness, “And I don’t know what to wear!”

“…what?” John says after a moment of silence, staring confusedly at his sister. If there’s one thing about Pat, it’s that she doesn’t care for clothes – never did, never will. She once went to a concert wearing a faded pair of _Hello Kitty_ pajamas and a pair of combat boots.

“Don’t give me that look!” she says, her cheeks tinting red, “The Washingtons are staying at our house for the summer. _That_ means Alex Washington is staying too!”

Ah, of course, Pat and her crush on the Washingtons’ son. John never really saw the big deal – he was just some politician’s kid.

“So what if he’s staying here?” John says, snorting, resuming his sketching as he looks away from his sister, “No one cares, Pat. They’re just boring, old, lying politicians. God knows we have enough of those.”

“Alex is not old!” he hears Pat protest, “In fact, he’s your age.”

John stops, thinking. “Alright,” he says, fingers on his chin for comical purposes, “Boring, _lying_ politicians then. Wasn’t he the one who discredited dad’s whole speech with his own? I’m pretty sure your Alex Washington is a daddy’s boy. I don’t see one political gathering that your Alex hasn’t attended – even in the ones where his presence wasn’t even required. I bet he wants to be just like his daddy – a lying scumbag.”

“George Washington is a good politician,” then a pause as John sends her an incredulous look, “Fine, maybe not _good_ but decent – at least, way better than dad. Alex might want to be a politician but he isn’t one _yet._ There’s still hope for him, Jack,” another pause, “And he isn’t _my_ Alex or anything like that!”

John gives up. “Jesus Christ,” he curses, shaking his head, “If I knew you were just gonna justify your crush on Alex Washington, I would’ve told you what to wear minutes ago.”

Pat taps her foot impatiently on the floor, waiting. “Okay, so tell me now.”

“Maybe the one you wore for dad’s charity event?” John says, humming, “The one with the ribbon on the back? Or you could also wear the one you wore for Mr Arnolds’ funeral,” he looks up sheepishly, “Okay, okay, I know. Horrible choices. Why are you even asking me about clothing choices? It’s more of Harry’s department.”

“I _did_ ,” Pat says pointedly, “But he said he knew nothing about women’s clothes.”

He raises an incredulous brow. “And you asked me instead?”

“You wore a dress to dad’s event once.”

He makes an unbelieving noise. “Out of spite, Martha Laurens. _Spite_ ,” he explains slowly, “Spite, meaning –”

“Fuckin’ Christ, Jack,” Pat curses, raising her middle finger shamelessly, “I know what spite means and spite him you did. God, I still remember dad’s face when you went in there wearing one of my dresses. Jesus, you were all over the news.”

“Yeah, I’m not doing that again,” John scoffs, “That was the most humiliating moment of my life. The only good thing I got out of there was dad’s unforgettable expression. Jesus, the absolute _horror_ on his face is my serotonin in life.”

Pat laughs but its unamused. “Okay, okay, I get it – you love torturing dad,” she says, “But I still don’t know what to wear.”

He looks at his sister, serious. “Pat,” he slowly says, eyes unblinking, “Two thousand people saw you wearing a _Barbie_ pajama set with black heels. I’m sure you can handle Alex Washington.”

“Yeah but _he’s_ Alex Washington!”

“Yeah and _I’m_ John Laurens,” he reiterates, grinning widely at Pat’s flushed face.

“You know what?” she spits out, “Fuck you, bro. You fucking suck.”

“Don’t fucking care, sis,” he responds too happily, humming a tune from his father’s radio. He shakes his head in amusement when he hears Pat’s angry, loud, retreating footsteps. He’s sure she’ll find something to wear tonight – whether it be a dress she was forced to wear at a funeral or an odd combination of suits and heels.

He turns the page, this time, drawing a salvia, humming.

_I think it looks better in red._

**x**

Hours later, John finds himself dressed up in a suit – too fancy to be casual – and he scratches the back of his neck, the tag of the suit itching. He silently curses the Washingtons – did they really have to come here and make John’s father force _him_ to wear one of those insufferably suffocating suits. He still doesn’t know why the Washingtons are here but, if he did, he’s sure he wouldn’t care. All he cares is the fact that he’s stuck in this suit throughout the night, pretending to be the good, perfect son of Henry Laurens. He sucks in a breath, the tie tight on his neck, like an anchor chaining him to this life. He swallows.

“Jack, they’re here!” Pat whispers excitedly to him, bouncing on her seat, fists clenched as she waits for the Washingtons’ arrival, “Do you think I really look alright?”

He scans her pink dress adorned with beetling ribbons.

“It’s… alright,” he says hesitantly, gulping. He doesn’t care much for the Washingtons or whatever opinion they have on his family but he knows Pat _does._ She’s been squealing about the Washingtons’ son for months now, watching the television routinely, anticipating to see a glimpse of Alex’s face. John never understood – or will understand – what is it about Alex Washington that makes everyone fall on their knees, girls _and_ boys. He knows. A pair of twins – Marie and Marcus – both admitted to John, one night, their admiration for the wildfire of a man.

He stiffens when he hears the door bursting open, instinctively rising from his chair. His siblings follow the suit, curiously staring at the new arrivals – the Washingtons. George Washington is a tall man, a diplomatic smile on his face as he enters the room, with his father immediately motioning them to sit down. Martha Washington is small compared to her husband but there’s a sophisticated grace in every step she takes – he lets himself smile when he sees Polly stare at her in wonder. Their sons – they have two, John realizes – are loud in their movements and careless in their steps.

 _Carefree_ , his mind notes. He makes a curious sound – he likes that.

They all take a seat – the elder Washingtons already lost in a conversation with their father. The tall, lanky son with a tight bun seats across Harry, offering him a blindingly bright smile, to which he responds with a tiny, meek smile. The short one with a low ponytail – Alex Washington, he assumed – with messy strands of hair framing his face, takes a seat across him and he doesn’t smile, not like his brother. He blinks in John’s way, his eyes scrutinizing.

 _Violet_ , a part of his mind says, _violet eyes._

Huh. Now, he knows why Pat’s been moaning about how absolutely _gorgeous_ Alex’s eyes were.

John clears his throat awkwardly – the air suddenly tight around him – as he averts his gaze, staring down at his plate instead. He swallows, his throat dry.

“Thank you, Henry, for this all,” he hears Mr Washington say, “We’re truly grateful. Aren’t we, Gilbert and Alexander?”

“Yes, father,” Gilbert says, an easy smile playing on his lips. Diplomatic.

He looks at Alex, expecting an obedient _yes._ “I guess,” Alex says, shrugging, elbow propped on the table, ignoring his parents’ scandalized stares, “I would have preferred to stay with the Schuylers – the air is friendlier there and everything is less forced. This was kind of you, though. But we all know you’re just doing it for political gain. Then again, when did you do anything outside of that factor?”

Tension is thick in the air.

John breathes in and steals a glance at Alex, his lips is curled into a smug smirk, eyes beaming as he defiantly stares at Henry – whose own cheeks are flushed crimson from Alex’s blunt words. He bites the insides of his cheeks to prevent the smile threatening to grace his face. He looks at Alex once more and reads him like an open book.

 _He can’t be a politician,_ he says in his mind, _he’s too honest._

Mrs Washington clears her throat, eyes wide. “What Alexander meant to say is he _is_ grateful as well,” she says, wincing when Henry forces a sickeningly sweet smile.

“It’s alright,” Henry says, subtly narrowing his eyes at Alex, “Honesty is the best policy, after all.”

Alex sends his own sardonic smile in Henry’s way and John feels his heart flutter in excitement.

What John ached to say all his life, Alex said in less than a minute.

John continues to eat, inserts himself in conversations if he has to, entertaining the Washingtons’ curious questions when it’s directed at him while he pretends he doesn’t feel the burning trail Alex’s vivid gaze leaves on his skin.

He looks up to see Alex once more, something imperceptible shining in his violet hues.

“John,” he says, pushing the plate of caviar closer to him, “Try it.”

An order, not a request.

John blinks, frowning. He pushes away the plate of caviar, opens his mouth to say something, _anything_ , but words fail him and he sits there, dumbly staring into the plate of caviar. He loathes caviar with an unyielding passion and, more so, does he absolutely despise being ordered around like some mindless toy to be tossed around. Alex is still staring expectantly at him as he raises his gaze and there’s something unreadable in those eyes – it’s bright, it’s fierce, it’s _there_ but John can’t figure what. He swallows and he acts before he thinks – he grabs a mouthful of caviar with his spoon and stuffs it in his mouth readily. The caviar is tasteless in his mouth. His brows are furrowed, knitted as he tries to study Alex – an enigma within himself. Alex hums, his eyes approving.

John can’t explain the full-body shudders his body emits.

**x**


	2. i should've worshipped her sooner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John’s cheeks burn as he tries to speak but words fail him, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to force out a response to defend whatever that’s left of his dignity.

Messily drawn petals staining the blank walls and paint scattered all over the white sheets with countless sketchbooks on the desk. Alex grimaces as he enters John’s room. It’s untidy – almost poetically messy – and his hands itches. As he looks back, he finds John staring at him, sheepishly smiling when he meets Alex’s eyes.

“You should clean your room, John,” Alex says, reveling in the reddening of John’s cheeks, his freckles prominent in the pretty color, “It’s messy. Sort of artistic, almost.”

John hums and leads him inside, closing the door behind them. He points to another door – the door to his room, Alex assumes. Alex swiftly walks to the door and opens it, revealing a tidier, tinier version of John’s room. Alex breathes a sigh of relief. He steps inside and closes the door in abrupt movements, his bones aching from the travel from New York to South Carolina. He collapses on the bed with a grunt, eyes fluttering close as he desperately tries to lose himself to sleep which doesn’t come easy to him. He has spent countless nights tossing and turning in his bed trying to chase sleep. But it never comes. He merely lies on his bed, restlessly staring at the ceiling.

He hopes South Carolina would be different. But, then again, why should it be?

 _John Laurens_ , a part of his mind answers.

He thinks of John Laurens and his pretty lips. He remembers ordering John around during dinner – pushing him to eat dishes that Alex wouldn’t dare to even try. He remembers feeling surprised at John’s obedience to do so, easily eating whatever dish he forces to him. Alex feels a rush overcome him when John stuffs a spoonful of caviar – or boring rich food as he likes to call it – and his hands ache to feed it to John himself. He doesn’t know why. He’s never like this.

He’s heard of John Laurens and his rebellious streak against his father. He supposed he wanted to test it out himself, to see how John would respond to forceful attempts and how John reacted – _that_ , Alex didn’t expect at all. He expected John pushing it away with forced grace or standing up and reprimanding Alex but... he _didn’t_. He didn’t. He was pliant under Alex’s orders, not even bothering to question why.

Alex feels his heart thrum. He turns in his bed to look at the door, frowning when he hears music blasting through the walls and stands up, knocking on the door. He can hear the hurried rustle of sheets, the panicked steps and the now-low music.

 _And just from a knock_ , Alex silently muses, smirking and shaking his head in amusement.

The door swings open, revealing a breathless John. “Hi,” he meekly says, “Did you need anything?”

Alex puts his hands on John’s shoulder, handling him out of the way and enters John’s room, whistling. The stained sheets are gone – replaced with dark red sheets and a crimson duvet – and the petals on the wall are faded, less vivid. Alex’s eyes widen and he turns to John.

“You’re cleaning,” he says, scoffing as he scans the room, then, in his peripheral, he sees John shy away from him and his face softens, “That’s good, John.”

“I –” John attempts to say, seeming at lost for words, taking a deep breath before he starts again, “You were right. I needed to clean my room – which was really starting to look like a garbage dump.”

“Can’t disagree with you there,” Alex says, awestruck as he imagines the way John’s freckled skin would look like against the rosy sheets and he speaks before he can rethink his words, “Would you lay on the bed?”

The question takes John aback. “What?”

Alex’s heart pulsates against its ribcage and he urges himself to play it cool. “You heard me,” he shrugs casually, “Lay on your bed.”

He expects an incredulous remark from John – or even just a timid _no_ – but he sees John gulp, reluctantly walking to his bed before he lies down on his back, fidgeting with his hands. Alex feels his breath caught in his throat, walking closer to the bed until he’s looking down on John, leaning until he can trace the endless freckles dotting his cheeks, until he’s caged John with his own body. John blushes prettily – what can this man do that’s _not_ pretty? – and Alex feels stricken by Cupid’s bows as he gazes down on John.

“You do know how to listen,” he says in feigned wonder, grinning when the skin under his fingertips warming. John looks away bashfully and avoids his gaze, to which Alex frowns. “Hey,” he says, using his other hand to grip on John’s chin, forcing the latter to look at him steadily, “Look at me when I’m talking to you, alright?”

John swallows. “Okay,” and it’s faint, barely there.

“Couldn’t hear you.”

He repeats in a clearer voice. “Okay.”

“Good,” Alex stands up abruptly, wiping his hands on his shirt, feeling breathless at John’s dazed eyes lost in a daydream, “Lower down the volume of your music next time.”

John watches helplessly as Alex retreats to his own room, heart rapidly beating against his own chest, blood rushing to his ears as he tries to comprehend what the hell did he just do. He sits up, releasing his hair from its loose ponytail, the curls tumbling down his shoulders. He swallows a lump in his dry throat, running a hand through his tangled hair, staring dumbly at Alex’s door.

He blinks and gets up, resumes to clean his room once more as he turns on the radio once more, the volume lowered down.

**x**

“You’re so lucky,” Pat gripes beside him, sulking as she eats her egg in small bites, frowning at him, “You get to room with Alex.”

John hums, head lost in his thoughts, cheeks reddening at the mention of Alex. He remembers last night – maybe, too vividly – and the way Alex’s breath feels on his skin, the way Alex’s fingertips slowly dragged along his skin, the way Alex’s hands grips on his chin, steel and tight. He lets out a shuddering breath, swallowing on his sausage. He takes another bite, chewing.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, Gil is great but Alex is just...” Pat sighs, chin in her hands as she fiddles with her fork, mindlessly stabbing on the boiled eggs, “... you’re so lucky. I really hate you, you know.”

John rolls his eyes. “Are you really gonna ruin our friendship over some boy?” he says, scoffing, “That’s really daft of you, Pat. I expected better.”

Pat opens her mouth to talk but her words are lost in her throat as the door bursts open, eyes sparkling as Alex enters. John meets Alex’s eyes and ducks his head, forcing another mouthful of sausages and eggs into his mouth, his cheeks puffing. Alex is dressed in plaid pajamas, dark circles under his eyes, as he approaches the table, blinking – as if in shock – as he scans the table.

“Where’re the others?”

Pat is quick to answer. “Our dad and your parents went out, Gilbert is jogging and our other siblings are still sleeping,” she answers in one breath, cheeks heating up. Alex looks at her blankly then smiles widely.

“Alright,” he says simply, taking a seat across John’s, eyes brightening at his plate of sausages and eggs, “Yum.”

John continues to eat, avoiding Alex’s trailing gaze. He hurriedly finishes his food, setting his utensils down as he takes the last bite of sausage, pushing until there’s enough space between the chair and the table, the screeching sound of the chair dragging across the floor ringing in his ears. He walks away from the table, leaving his plate be, knowing the maids will fix it from, but he freezes in his movements when he hears Alex speak.

“Aren’t you gonna clean up after yourself?” Alex asks as John turns around, tone condescending as he shakes his head, tutting, “Never mind. Sorry, I forgot you were daddy’s little boy who can’t do anything for himself. Can you even wash the dishes? Or do you make the maids do everything for you? Do they also wash your clothes for you? That’s real cute, John. Real cute.”

John’s cheeks burn as he tries to speak but words fail him, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to force out a response to defend whatever that’s left of his dignity. He stands wordless under Alex’s vivid gaze, his breath caught in his throat. He notices his sister half-heartedly protesting against Alex’s words but her voice dies down in his mind. His mouth is dry as he attempts to talk and he feels ashamed of the tears springing up in the corner of his eyes. He clears his throat as he walks to the table, taking the plate in his hands, trying to ignore the way his body pleasantly tingles when Alex carefully watches him with hooded eyes, scrutinizing his every movement.

John gulps. “I can do it,” and his words come out desperate, as if pleading Alex to give him a chance to prove himself and he shakes his head, speaking in a louder voice, “Of course, I can do it. I’m not an idiot.”

He walks away in swift steps, stomach churning as he feels the burning trail of Alex’s gaze in each step. When he reaches the kitchen, he’s relieved to see it vacated – the maids must be taking their break. He walks to the sink, sees the dishwasher in his peripheral and ignoring it, setting the plate down the basin and switching on the faucet, the water sprouting out. He grabs the sponge and squirts the dishwashing liquid into it, rubbing away the stains from the glass plate and the utensils until they’re spotless. He places them on the countertop, wiping his hands with the cloth. He lets out a shaky breath as he turns away, eyes narrowing when he sees Alex standing by the threshold.

“Are you happy now?” he spits out, walking to Alex, fists clenched at his sides, “What else are you gonna make me do, huh? Sell my organs to the black market?” Alex snorts at that and John glares at him, nails digging into his palms, “Tell me, Alex – why do you like ordering me around?”

Alex chuckles, a sardonic sound in his ears. “I don’t like ordering you around, John,” he says, his tone amused, leaning against the doorframe, “You just make it too easy, _doggy._ ”

John staggers, brows knitting. Alex scoffs, looking at him as if he were the dirt under his nails, walking past him. John stares after him and breathes in, eyes fluttering as he walks out the kitchen.

 _It’s only been one day_ , his mind reminds him, _calm down._

**x**


	3. we were born sick, you heard them say it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Sick bastard,_ his mind says and John can’t find it in himself to listen.

“Aren’t you gonna come with?”

John’s eyes are stuck on the television – a Spanish telenovela – and he shakes his head as a response, too distracted to even spare them a glance. He sips on his orange juice, humming along the music that blasts through the radio outside. A warm summer afternoon – perfect time to go swimming. John despises swimming, hates the summer sun against his skin, all sticky and icky.

“You’re not gonna go swimming?” it’s Gilbert who asks this time, “Why not? It’s hot out.”

John nods, eyes still on the television. “Exactly why,” he murmurs, “Too hot. Don’t like it.”

Gilbert lets out a laugh, unbelieving. “John,” he says, serious and slow as if he were talking to an unruly child, “You live in South Carolina.”

He shrugs, eyes flicking, cheeks reddening when he sees Alex standing shirtless behind a modestly-dressed Gilbert. “Yeah, and?” he says, snorting, “Just because I live here, don’t mean I have to love it.”

“Oh, let him be,” Pat waves him off – bless his darling sister – tugging the boys outside, “He never goes out during summer – unless dad forces him to.”

“Should we get your father, then?”

John looks up, exasperated, only to meet Alex’s unyielding gaze and he groans, his hand running over his face. “I am _not_ gonna swim,” he says pointedly, a pause between each word, “This is _my_ break from that hellhole they like to call school and I’m gonna spend it the way _I_ wanna.”

“Leave him be, boys,” Pat calls out, fingers snapping, catching their attention, “Now, we either gonna swim right now or not at all.”

Pat leaves the room hurriedly, nose up in the air. Alex and Gilbert share a look but they follow, nonetheless, muttering along the way – ‘ _women._ ’ John snickers, chugging on his orange juice, burying himself further into the couch and its mountain of pillows, letting out a satisfied sigh, the room finally free from any disturbance as he watches the show without any distractions.

Hours pass and John finds himself crying over the telenovela, tears streaming down his face as he weeps over the tragic romance between Pedro and Susanita. Despite the searing heat, a warm quilt is wrapped around him, an empty glass laying carelessly on the couch as he cries his heart out over the death of poor Susanita, lips quivering with tears, sniffing. He wipes the tears with the back of his hand, nose red and stuffy. He barely notices the sudden slam of the opening door, flinching in shock as the sound echoes in his ears, staring accusingly at the intruders – Pat drenched with water and Gilbert walking along with her, both shivering from the conditioned room. John snorts – they _deserve_ it.

“John Laurens,” he hears Gilbert say, looking at him quizzically, teeth clattering and tone disbelieving, “You have a whole pool outside your house and you’d rather spend your summer crying over television?”

John winces. It _does_ sound pathetic, with the way Gilbert phrased his sentence.

“ _Yes,_ ” he says, rolling his eyes, sniffing into the tissue, “I like it inside – no sun to burn me or my skin. And you can insult me about how I spend my summer once you stop shivering like it’s two degrees in here.”

“But it is –”

John only raises his hand, tutting. “Ah-ah,” he says mockingly, “Still shivering.”

Gilbert mutters a curse before he heads to the bathroom. John notices Pat standing on the ground, arms crossed as she stares at him. He frowns when he doesn’t notice Alex – still swimming, he supposes.

“Pat,” he says, tilting his head when she stays still, shivering as she wraps her arms around herself, “What’re you still doing here? And where’s Alex?”

Pat’s lips widen to a smile and she squeals shamelessly, spinning in dizzying circles. “We kissed, John!” and John feels his blood run cold, tongue licking over his lips as he watches his sister move with glee, “We kissed! Oh, John, it was so –”

He doesn’t need details. “With Alex?”

“Duh!” her words come out as a screech and John squirms, ears aching from her inhumanely high-decibels, “His lips, John, it feels so –”

He does _not_ need any details about how Alex shoved his tongue down his sister’s throat. “Why’d he kiss you?”

Pat looks at him sheepishly, her smile awkward. “Technically –” he hears himself saying _uh-oh_ , smiling at the withering look Pat sends over his way, “– it was an accident. I was on my floatie and he jumped on me – which really hurt, to be honest – and we both fell into the pool and we kissed!”

John feels his mind glitching, unable to comprehend the sudden rush of words that leaves Pat’s mouth. He looks at her, blinking slowly. “Pat,” he says, clearing his throat, sighing, “How about you calm the heck down and explain?” when she opens her mouth, John sighs once more, cutting her off as he raises a finger, “ _Slowly_ , this time. Please.”

Pat stares at him dubiously before she acquiesces with a long-drawn sigh. “Alright,” she says, tiny, little droplets of water dripping down herself as she squeezes the water out of her hair, “I was on the floatie, relaxing and that’s when Alex decided to jump in the pool. He landed on me – fucking hurt, by the way, he was _so_ heavy – and he sent us tipping over. Then, boom, kiss!”

He still can’t picture it in his mind. “Pat –”

“I’ll tell you more, Jack,” Pat says, walking to the hallway, “Lemme take a bath first!”

Once Pat disappears from his sight, John clenches his fist and he feels himself overcome with anger. He doesn’t know if it from the revelation of Alex kissing his sister or the realization of Alex kissing _somebody else_ – which, he knows, is downright _stupid._ He doesn’t own Alex – he can go kiss anyone he wants. John doesn’t have a saying in that.

 _But not his sister,_ another voice in his mind seethes. John swallows, a wave of nausea running over him when he realizes he’s _not_ angry because of _that._ He forcibly squeezes his eyes close with unneeded force, lips in a sneer, nails roughly digging into his own skin, leaving bruises. He takes a deep breath and unwraps the quilt around himself, standing up from the couch and walking outside, only to be met with the lovely sight of Alex doing laps, the sound of splashing water in his ears.

John hesitates in his steps but he soon finds himself a few steps away from the pool. He bites the insides of his cheeks when Alex spots him, swimming his way to John. Alex climbs his way out of the pool and walks to John, the corner of his lips tugging as he approaches John.

John acts before he thinks – _as always,_ a voice in his mind berates him.

He raises his clenched fist, hitting Alex right on the nose, wincing when he hears the sickening crack of Alex’s nose. Alex staggers back, himself only a few moments away from falling into the pool before he catches himself, straightening his crouched posture, a hand tightly gripping his nose when a trail of blood trickles down. John leans forward, apologies at the tip of his tongue and, before he can even attempt to voice his sincere apologies, Alex growls – literally fucking _growls_ – gripping John’s face with his other hand, the sound animalistic in John’s ears.

“Alex,” he manages out, struggling to speak with the tight grip on his cheeks, “Please let go.”

Alex, surprisingly, lets go and John regrets his words almost instantaneously, longing for Alex’s rough, bruising touch. _Sick bastard,_ his mind says and John can’t find it in himself to listen.

“Why’d you hit me?” Alex says, wiping the blood away with the back of his hand, and, as John attempts to apologize, Alex cuts him to it, “No. I don’t want any of your apologies – just the truth.”

“You kissed my sister,” he forces out his throat, the words leaving a bitter taste in his mouth.

Alex chuckles, shaking his head. “Baby, I said the _truth_ ,” Alex laughs and it’s mocking and John doesn’t care because _what the hell did Alex just call him,_ “I know you don’t care about me kissing your sister. We’ve spent enough time together to let me know that you aren’t the big brother type.”

He supposes this is what he gets after spending two weeks of summer only with Alex – only seeing his siblings and, sometimes Gilbert if he’s not busy going out, during meal times.

“You kissed someone else,” he finally blurts out, flushing when Alex tilts his head in confusion, brows knitting as he studies John.

“I’m sorry but is there some unspoken rule between us?” Alex says after an unbearable moment of silence, “Am I not allowed to kiss anyone?”

He, somehow, finds his voice. “No,” and it’s bold, he knows.

“Really now?” Alex says, smiling, stepping closer to John, “Who am I supposed to kiss, then?”

John doesn’t let himself answer for a moment as he contemplates on his words. He could be blunt and boldly say _me_ but that could lead to Alex calling him various things and, maybe, John’s heard enough with those. He doesn’t need to hear it come out from Alex’s mouth as well.

But what else is he supposed to say?

“Me,” he reveals, bracing himself. He swallows when Alex doesn’t say anything, only looking at him oddly, eyes curious.

“You want me to kiss you?” Alex steps closer and all John can think is _fuck,_ “Answer me, John.”

“Maybe,” he answers, unsure. Alex frowns.

“Yes or no, John,” he says, bringing a hand to cup John’s cheeks, thumb tracing a pattern of freckles splattered on his cheeks, leaning so close that their breaths entangle, “Just answer, John. Not that hard.”

“Yes,” he breathes out, “God, yes, Alex, please ki –”

Alex seals the gap between their lips, arms instinctively wrapping around John’s waist to pull him closer. Their lips move with effortless grace and John thinks he can get lost in this feeling, hands tightly gripping Alex’s shoulders, fearing if he let it too loose, Alex would go away. The kiss is soft and simple and everything John could ask for.

Alex pulls away too soon, his breaths heavy. “John –”

He doesn’t want to hear any of it. His fingers thread through Alex’s wet locks and pulls him into another kiss, his lips moving clumsily against Alex’s. His hands cup John’s cheeks, tongue brushing against John’s lips. John lets out a faint moan – barely there – and Alex needs _more._ He runs his tongue over John’s lips in a practiced pattern, eliciting a moan from John, and shamelessly shoves his tongue in, hungrily exploring John’s mouth. John groans, tugging on Alex’s hair, meeting Alex’s vigor with his own.

They part for breath and they both wish for anything _but._

“Alex –”

He pulls away abruptly, realization dawning. “Uhm, I’ve gotta dash,” Alex says in a hurry, walking past John, barely sparing the other a glance, “Been swimming really long. M’really tired. Need a bath. Bye.”

Alex walks out before John can comprehend anything.

John traces his lips, remembers how Alex’s lips felt against his and all he can grasp is his overwhelming need for _more._

**x**

“Alex, there you are!”

He sees Pat excitedly hop to him and he closes his eyes in frustration. He doesn’t have time for this, for _her_ – he’s dripping wet and cold and confused and _just_ kissed John Laurens. He does _not_ need to deal with Pat’s incessant babbling – he has enough to deal with. He sends her a forced smile, waving her off, hoping she would get the signal that he’s in _no_ mood to talk. He bites back a groan when Pat follows him, all the way to the bathroom.

“Alex –”

“Can you save it for later, Pat?” he says, annoyed, “I’m gonna take a bath.”

Pat’s face crumbles and Alex doesn’t care. She can cry – for all he cares – but if she doesn’t leave his sight and continues persisting, he knows he won’t hold back.

“I know,” she smiles, face suddenly smug, “I’m joining you.”

She starts undressing and Alex winces, gesturing her to stop. “Why in the world are you gonna join me? You already took a bath.”

She makes a face and it takes all of Alex’s self-control to not burst in laughter.

“No, Pat, you got it all wrong,” he says, brows raised, “I don’t like you,” _just your brother_ , “I don’t wanna fuck you either so if you would just go, that’d be really nice.”

Pat’s face reddens. “What – I wasn’t – You –”

Alex lets out a sigh, ignoring her attempts of forcing out stuttered garble of words, twisting the knob open and going inside the bathroom. He hears Pat’s protests against the closed door and shakes his head. He removes his wet clothes off him, throws it to who-knows-where as he steps in the shower. He flicks on the switch, sighing when water flows from the showerhead, squirting a handful of shampoo into his hand and threading his fingers through his hear. Losing himself in the steady sound of the shower, he thinks of John and the way his lips moved against his.

He sighs. He knows it isn’t natural or normal or ideal. He knows he could ruin his chances of becoming a politician by pursuing… whatever _this_ is.

But one brush of John’s petal lips against his chapped ones and all coherent thoughts fades away into an intoxicating bliss.

He gulps, washing away the shampoo from his hair. In hurried movements, he rubs soap all over him and lets the water wash it away. He turns off the shower and wraps a towel around his lower part, shivering as he unlocks the door, the cold air all over him. He walks to John’s room – his only entrance to his own room – leaving wet footsteps on the wooden floors. He opens the door, breathing a sigh of relief when he finds John’s room vacated. He walks to the door to his room, twisting the knob open. He walks in and slams the door close. He unwraps the towel from himself and rubs his head against it, drying his dripping locks. He carelessly throws the towel on his bed and slips on a random pair of clothes, worn-out trousers and a gray shirt.

He sits on the edge of his bed, hand raking over his wet hair.

He swallows nervously when he hears a tentative knock on his door. He stands up and swings the door open, heart skipping when he sees John, tussled hair and swollen-lipped.

“Alex, look, I –”

He can’t resist anymore.

He forcefully pulls John to him, lips crashing in a heated kiss, sending them tumbling down on John’s bed – his freckled skin contrasting prettily against the rose red sheets, curls all over him like a halo. Alex groans and, soon, the mere touch of their lips isn’t _enough._ He forces his tongue in and John reciprocates promptly. The kiss is messy and dirty and _everything_ Alex needs. He revels in John’s soft moans, bitten-off whimpers and guttural groans.

Alex pulls away, earning himself a whine from John. He ignores it, pressing a soft kiss on his exposed collarbone, littered with the messy, familiar pattern of starry freckles. John moans, breathy, back arching into his touch and it’s the sweetest thing Alex has ever heard. He runs his tongue over it, sucking lightly on skin, the taste intoxicating his senses.

“Alex,” he hears John say, “Is… Isn't this wrong?”

He hears the vulnerability in John’s voice, heart clenching because he’s never heard John sound so scared, so _broken_ before.

“Doesn’t matter, John,” he says before he locks lips with John once more. The kiss is gentler, less heated but Alex loves it, nonetheless. In this moment, nothing else matters – not his dreams, not his hopes, not _anyone_ – just him and John.

He wishes he could stay here forever, locked in this moment.

But, inevitably, a soft knock shatters the moment like cracking glass. They both jump away from each other and John answers with a hoarse _yes._

“Dinner time!” he hears Jem say from the other side of the door.

They sigh, sharing a look.

“Alright, we’ll be right out!” John responds, standing up, running a hand over his hair. He pulls on a jacket, zipping it up as he turns to Alex. “Let’s go.”

Alex answers soundlessly with a stiff nod. John walks to the door but, before he can attempt to twist the knob open, Alex races to him, grabbing John by the shoulders, handling him to face him. John inhales as he’s face to face with Alex once more, lips only mere inches away from each other, hitting his head against the door with a soft thud when Alex roughly pins his wrist to the door.

Alex leans in, taking in the shell of John’s ears between his lips. “It doesn’t matter, John,” he whispers softly, pressing a soft kiss on John’s lips before he pulls away, the movement shocking John, still blinking and gawking at Alex. He chuckles at John’s dazed eyes – who pulls himself away from the door with clumsy steps – and opens the door, smiling.

“It doesn’t matter.”

**x**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tfw u punch ur crush and they kiss u


	4. she tells me worship in the bedroom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John stands up, leaving his unfinished banana down his plate, ignoring the disturbed looks Gilbert sends his way, his eyes blown wide as he stares at them both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just to clarify, they're both 18 here

“…you listening, Jack?”

John shakes his head, blinking. “Yeah, I am, sorry,” he says, his tone distracted, himself too lost in his haunting thoughts, palms clamming as he forces himself to eat the food before him, eyes lost in the violet gaze of Alexander and he clears his throat as he hesitantly faces his sister, a high blush in his cheeks, “What… What, er, were you saying?”

“I was saying…” John stares at Alex, breath hitching when Alex’s bare foot lightly grazes his, gulping, “…should be coming here soon. Oh and Gil – your parents told me that your house is finally…”

Alex entangles his feet with John’s, a mischievous smile playing on his lips when John’s mouth goes slack. John clears his throat, swallowing as he grabs the table cloth, wiping his mouth. He forces a spoonful of beef into his mouth, heart fluttering Alex’s other foot trails on his leg, from his knee to his ankle in slow motions. He chews, swallowing as his arm reaches for a banana.

 _Two can play this game,_ he says in his mind as he slowly peels off the banana’s skin, smirking when Alex freezes, his ministrations halting as he stares at John in shock. John stares at the banana – long in length, thick in width, curved in shape – winking at Alex before he shoves the banana down in his throat, choking on the sudden intrusion. He sucks – a slurping sound – and Alex’s pupils visibly dilate, his violets darkening. John would smile if he could.

He pulls the banana off his throat when he feels his eyes water. He gulps, making a sliding motion with the banana into his mouth before he takes a bite, grinning when Alex tightens his grip on his feet. He takes another bite and Alex makes a wounded noise, his fists paling from his tight grip on the table.

He stands up in a sudden. “John and I have to talk about something,” he walks to the door, pausing when he sees John still in his chair, eyes narrowing, “Come on, John. Let’s go.”

John stands up, leaving his unfinished banana down his plate, ignoring the disturbed looks Gilbert sends his way, his eyes blown wide as he stares at them both. John shrugs as he walks to Alex, shiver running down his spine when Alex wraps his arms around his hips, right above his ass. They walk to their rooms in silence and John blushes when he sees the underline of Alex’s cock, tight around his pants. He gulps when Alex’s hand pats his ass, his movements rough and forceful. John twists the knob open and Alex pushes him in the bedroom, slamming the door close as he eyes John hungrily, his gaze akin to a wolf eyeing his little lamb.

He walks closer and closer and closer to John until the latter feels the back of his knees hitting the bedpost. Alex tugs him to his knees and John goes down without protest, looking up with glassy eyes. Alex takes a deep breath, pants tightening.

“So pretty on your knees, John, aren’t you?” Alex whispers, hands tugging on John’s curls, eliciting a throaty moan from John, “Fucking dirty whore. Did you enjoy pulling that little stunt during dinner?” John whines at his words, cock hardening from Alex’s harsh words, lets himself be pulled by the hair, baring his throat, “Answer me, you slut. Tell me, did you like sucking that banana in front of everyone, huh? Did you like pretending it was my cock, huh, John? Did you?”

John whimpers, tears brimming in the corner of his eyes, cheeks reddening in shame at finding pleasure from _this_ – the humiliation, the roughhousing, the degradation – as he averts his gaze on Alex’s bulging cock, mouth watering as brings up a hand around it, eyes nearly rolling in the back of his head when he feels the sheer size of it in his own hands. A moan stumbles out from Alex’s mouth.

“Desperate bitch,” he breathes out, bringing his hand down to trace John’s crimson lips, “You wanna suck my cock, don’t you? Is that what you wanna do, huh?” John doesn’t answer, continues to palm Alex through his trousers. Alex grunts, pulling John away from his crotch, glaring. “Answer. _Me._ ”

John forcibly closes his eyes, loses himself in the sensation, pushing away all coherence from himself as he focuses on the way Alex pulls on his hair, the pain in his scalp stinging. Tears slip through his clenched eyes when Alex tugs harder. “Yes,” he forces the word out from his throat, his vision swaying.

John tries to move closer, to get that heat between his lips and into his throat but Alex relents, puts him in his place. “You wanna?” he says, chuckling, “Tell me, you wanna suck this dick?”

He squeezes his eyes tight in frustration. “ _Yes_ , Alex, I do,” comes out through his gritted teeth.

“Then, beg.”

John’s eyes fly open in disbelief, mouth falling open at the mere _audacity_ of it all. “Alexander, you can’t –”

“You sucked that banana like it was dick in front of all your siblings, Laurens,” Alex grits out, “Surely, you can beg,” he taps John’s cheeks, pinching his nose, “So, come on, baby doll, beg for it.”

John swallows on his pride – if he had any at all, that is – and words tumble out of his mouth mindlessly. “Alex, please, let me, please,” his words come off as toneless and it sounds mundane even in his own ears so he tries again, this time, his voice thick with desperation, looking up at Alex, eyelashes fluttering to entice him, “Alex, _please_ , let me suck on your cock, please, let me make you feel good, I – please, Alex, please, let me choke on your cock like… like the little slut I am,” John can hardly make out the words coming out his mouth but, by the way Alex’s body shudders, he can tell it’s working and, so, he continues to ramble, “Fuck my mouth, Alex, fuck me, my mouth, _please_ , fuck my filthy mouth, Alex, with your thick cock, Alex –”

When Alex speaks, he’s breathless. “Pretty whore,” Alex breathes out, unzipping his trousers, pulling it down to his ankles along with his boxers, his cock finally springing up free, “Should’a made you beg long ago. D’you ever beg for someone else’s cock, huh, John?”

“No,” he answers breathily, torn between _just_ sliding Alexander’s cock down his throat and waiting for Alex’s permission to do so, “No, only yours.”

“That’s right, only _mine_ ,” Alex says, “Suck, John, come on. Prove to me you’re a good boy.”

His words go straight to John’s dick and he nearly pounces on Alex, tongue flicking over the head, testing the waters, moaning when Alex’s hands find their way back to John’s curls once more, threading through the tangles as he urges John on. John grips on Alex’s hips as his mouth sinks down on Alex’s cock, hollowing his cheeks when the head touches the back of his throat and John tears up from the effort of fighting his gag reflex. Alex mutters sweet nothings – his words are lost in John’s ears – and his hand brushes against his curls, guiding John around his cock, head lolling back when John starts to bob his head around his length. John looks up, notices the way Alex’s eyes are glazed from pressure, notices the way Alex moans as his tongue slides over his lips, notices everything and it’s _obscene_. On his knees, nose red and eyes teary as his mouth is going up and down on Alex’s dick, drool smearing his chin, lips tight as Alex forces his cock in and out and the sound of himself slurping around Alex’s length.

“That’s it, baby, your mouth is so tight,” Alex says, pulling off his cock to let John catch his breath, the head of his cock resting on the tip of John’s tongue and he can feel John trying to suck him back in and, so, he slides in easily, groaning when his cock is in between wet heat of John’s mouth, “Bet your ass is tighter, though.”

John’s throat _impossibly_ tightens around his length and it takes all of Alex’s self-control to not let go right there and then. His hands find their way to John’s cheeks, cupping it gently as his lips twist into a fond smile, the skin warm under his touch.

“You like that, babe?” he says, breathy, chest heaving with moans as John sucks with more vigor, head bobbing up and down at an impossible pace and _fuck,_ if this was wrong, then he’d rather never be right, “You like the sound of that, huh? Me fucking into your sweet ass? You like it?” John moans around his dick, lashes fluttering so prettily – all for _him,_ “Yeah, and I will. I’ll fuck you so hard you won’t be able to walk properly tomorrow. And, every time you sit down, all you’ll remember is how my thick cock felt between your ass cheeks, pounding in and out of you and how you cried and begged for _more_ like the filthy slut you are.”

And, _fuck_ , that was it for Alex.

He comes with a groan, eyes squeezing in slits as he reaches his peak, stars behind his eyelids. John whimpers, the slick, wet slide of Alex’s cum going down his throat and he swallows as much as he can, the excess dripping off his chin. He pulls himself off Alex’s length, jaw aching as he looks up. Alex pulls John to his feet – who stands up on shaky legs, knees throbbing – and into his arms, wiping away the cum off his chin, pressing a soft kiss against John’s lips.

“So good, John,” Alex murmurs between their kisses, gesturing for John to lay on the bed, to which the latter complies with too easily, “You’re so good for me, baby, so good,” he says, slipping his trousers and boxers off his ankles and throwing off his shirt, crawling to John on the bed, mesmerized as he stares at John, “Now, it’s my turn to be good for my little whore.”

He unzips John’s pants. “Lift your hips up for me, sweetheart,” he says, pulling it off John’s legs in one motion, situating himself between John’s legs, “What do you want, baby? My mouth or hand?”

John shakes his head. “No,” he rasps out, sweat sticking to his body, “Don’t want any of those. Want your fingers –” Alex makes a confused look, brows furrowing, “– in me. Please, Alex.”

Alex curses, cock turning painfully hard at John’s words again, licking the underside of John’s dick before he sits up. “D’you have oil in here?” he asks, walking to the drawers, rummaging through it, “Might hurt if you don’t use oil.”

“On the bottom drawer,” Alex hums, leaning down and opening the bottom drawer, retrieving a small bottle of oil, walking back to John, a questioning look on his face when he approaches, to which John perceives instantly, answering in less than a second, “My best friend, Mar, gave it.”

“She knows?” he asks, squirting a handful of oil into his fingers, face softening when he sees John’s face flushing in shame, averting his gaze, “Hey, remember what I said? Doesn’t matter, John – what they say, what they think, what they do. It doesn’t matter, alright? They don’t matter. Only you and me,” John hums in response and Alex tilts his chin to face him, “Don’t be ashamed, John. Just focus on me, alright, babe?”

“Alright,” and his voice is still meek, uncertain and unsure but his John is trying and, for now, that’s enough for Alex.

“Alright,” Alex repeats, smiling, “Now, would you turn on your stomach for me, Jack? Easier that way, you know.”

John nods, complying, turning on his stomach, knees bending as he holds himself on his elbows. Alex hums appreciatively, hand lightly tapping on John’s ass as he spreads his cheeks apart, leaning down to lick over the crack of John’s ass. John moans – long and drawn-out – back arching into his touch, eyes squeezing in unadulterated pleasure.

Alex shoves his tongue right in and John gasps brokenly, hips bucking for more friction. “‘Lex, s’good,” he whimpers, his head hanging when Alex sucks around the rim, “Fingers, please, Alex, fingers.”

Alex pulls away, breath taken away as he watches John clench around nothing, tracing his finger over the crack. “How many d’you want, babe boy?” he says, his finger teasing John’s hole, the tip barely in, smirking when John tries to force it in and Alex swats his ass on his other hand, “Answer me and then I’ll fuck you.”

John whines pathetically, tears streaking his cheeks. “Four, please, I want four, ‘Lex, please, your fingers,” he gasps out, a high-pitched moan stumbling out of his mouth when Alex inserts the whole of his finger, the tight stretch of Alex’s finger numbing and addicting, “Fuck!” he nearly screams out, hips moving against Alex’s fingers, desperate for more stimulation, “Alex, please, faster.”

“Shh, baby, relax,” Alex whispers, pumping his finger in and out of John, mesmerized by the way John’s hole sucks it in, wishing it were his cock instead, “I’ve got you. Stay still, now, would you, my pretty boy?”

John’s hips still, his hands fisting the sheets, letting out a shuddering breath. Alex makes an approving noise, adding another finger and John’s eyes roll in the back of his head, clenching around Alex’s fingers. John mewls, high-pitched, burying his face into his pillow as Alex thrusts his fingers in and out in shallow, firm pumps, pace unrelenting. Alex easily slips in another finger and he moans at how John takes him in so _readily_ , so beautifully, his cock hardening when he watches the way his three fingers open up John’s tight hole, stretching it till it’s loose and gaping. In a matter of seconds, Alex adds his pinky and his four fingers simultaneously pump in and out of John. He keens when Alex’s fingers brush against his prostate, back bowing, panting and breathless, begging Alex to do it once more.

“‘Lex, right there! ‘Lex, please, there, again, again, again!” John sobs, embarrassed at the way Alex’s fingers make obscene noises around his hole, mouth falling open in a silent moan when Alex repeats the motion, “Fuck, Alex, m’close,” he whimpers when Alex wraps his other hand on his cock and _fuck it’s too much_ and he can’t get enough of it, of _this_ , “Fuck! Fuck, Alex, I’m coming, Alex!” Alex’s thumbs pads his perineum, other hand pumping his cock, and John cries out in pleasure, the overstimulation rushing to his head. He comes, plopping down the bed as Alex slips his fingers out of John and lets go of his cock, his sheets dirty and smeared with cum but John’s too exhausted to care, sweat around his skin.

“John,” Alex says, breathing heavily, “John, babe, get up. Let’s change your sheets.”

John whines at the prospect of getting up. “Don’t wanna,” he whines, the sound childlike in his ears, burying himself further into the mattress, “‘M’tired.”

“I know you are, sweetheart, but I’m gonna need you to stand up so I can change your sheets _so_ you can sleep comfortably,” John huffs, ignoring Alex – who only sighs, “Fine, how about this – you get up and clean yourself then I’ll cuddle with you.”

John visibly brightens up at that and he gets up, though reluctantly. He stands up on shaky legs, proceeds to get a rug out of his closet to wipe away the cum and oil off him. Alex smiles, shaking his head as he pulls off the dirty sheets, throwing them in the corner of John’s room, hoping none of the maids would bother to question on the stain of the sheets. He walks to John’s closet, pulling John into a gentle kiss – more of a peck, really – before he walks in to look for more sheets. He finds a neatly folded emerald green sheet – like John’s eyes – and proceeds to unfold it, walking towards John’s bed to put it over the mattress. He puts it messily and the corners are crumpled but he doesn’t care, bones aching. He lays down the bed with a plop and gestures for John to lay with him.

John plops beside him, burying his head into the crook of Alex’s neck as Alex wraps his arms around him, pulling the blankets over them. He sighs happily.

“They don’t matter, John,” Alex manages to whisper before his eyelids close.

**x**

Alex wakes up with a grunt.

His eyes squint at the sunlight perturbing through the blinds. He stretches as he admires the view in front of him – John, even in sleep, looks beautiful, hair messily falling over him. He smiles, tucking a stray curl behind John’s ears, the latter subconsciously leaning into his touch. Alex fondly smiles, getting up from the bed, putting the blanket over John before he walks into his own room.

He yawns, pulling on a button-up shirt and beige shorts. He collapses on his bed, landing with a thud, breathing in and out.

 _They don’t matter,_ his own words echo in his ears but Alex can’t find it in himself to believe them. He’s told John a million times, assured him every time – _it doesn’t matter, they don’t matter_ – but, despite the hypocrisy of it all, he berates himself with the wrongness of it all. He knows it’s wrong, knows he’s ruining his chances of achieving his goals, knows he could be damned to hell for this but… _but why_ , he asks himself, eyes tearing up. What was so wrong with them that society shuns on them at the mere mention of their names? They did none wrong – they didn’t harm anyone, didn’t kill anyone, didn’t _anything_ – but love each other, not as boys, not as men, but as _souls._ Was that so despicable, so disgusting, so dirty?

Alex’s lip quivers, shutting his eyes to entrap the tears. _As souls, as souls, as souls,_ he repeats in his mind, wiping away the tears that has managed to fall, _as souls, as souls, as souls._ He stands up from his bed, feeling too restless to stay still, and carefully opens the door to watch John sleep, leaning against the doorframe as he watches John toss and turn in his bed, muttering and murmuring. His eyes glass with tears as he imagines how they would treat his John if anyone were to ever find out about this – they would be treated as nothing but animals to be tamed, to be cured and to be _corrected._ His tears trickle down his cheeks.

He walks his way over to John, leaning down to plant one last kiss on his lips, John’s curls tickling his face.

 _You don’t deserve this,_ he says in his mind, miserably staring at John.

**x**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> playing footsie under the table while deepthroating a banana,,,, so romantic


	5. i'll tell you my sins and you can sharpen your knife

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John wants to know what he’s done wrong, wants to ask Alex why he’s suddenly pretending John doesn’t exist, wants to know if Alex regrets what they’ve done because, _goddamn_ , John doesn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tw // homophobic language, f slur

“Do I really have to be here?”

Pat looks back, hand pausing in her attempt to open the door, incredulity in her eyes. “Jack,” she says, breathing in deeply, eyes slowly closing in frustration, “Francis Kinloch invited us to this party – specifically asked for you if you don’t remember – so, _yes_ , John, you really do have to be here.”

John narrows his eyes, crossing his arms. “Hey,” he starts, a warning laced in his voice, “I just asked a question – which was meant to be rhetorical than anything else. Calm your ass down.”

“I’ll calm my ass down when _I_ want to,” she grits out, pointing a finger at John, “You ain’t the boss of me, Jack.”

“I never said I was, you mo –”

Gilbert steps in, raising both his hands as he places himself in between the siblings. “Alright, alright,” he says, trying to calm them both, “Both of you, calm down. It is just a party – no one is going to die.”

“Sure, tell that to the dumbass brother of mine,” Pat spits out before she walks in the house blaring with music, Gilbert trailing after her. John growls, eyes narrowed and brows knitted, as he attempts to follow after her but Alex walks past him, not even sparing him a glance. John staggers in his step, heart clenching as he watches Alex disappear into the door, frowning – ever since that _night_ , Alex hasn’t talked to him, hasn’t spared him one glance, hasn’t even acknowledged him. John wants to know what he’s done wrong, wants to ask Alex why he’s suddenly pretending John doesn’t exist, wants to know if Alex regrets what they’ve done because, _goddamn_ , John doesn’t. He wants – _needs_ – more, another repetition of that night, but Alex has barely even blinked his way, probably ashamed of what they have.

John doesn’t blame him. He knows it’s wrong, sinful – unnatural if you would. He’s thought about it too much, thought about how they would send him to conversion therapy, thought about how he would bring shame to his father and his family – thought of it all _yet_ he still wants more of _them_ , wants more of what Alex wants to give him, wants more of Alex.

His nails dig into his palms, hard enough to be bruising, letting out a shaky breath.

 _Tainted._ He feels tainted.

He blinks, walking to the house, aching to drown himself in liquor. He squirms when he’s met with a dancing crowd, teenagers swaying to the music and, though he would have loved to dance the night away, his heart was not in the right place to do so. He wrings himself out of the tireless crowd, breathing a sigh of relief as he sees a table full of cups – of alcohol, he hopes. He takes one in his hand, chugging, nearly choking on the strong flavor the alcohol leaves in his mouth. John wipes away the remnants of alcohol from his mouth with the back of his hand, urging his mind to let his memories fade away into the alcohol. He takes another gulp – still remembers the way Alexander’s lips tug on his, still remembers the way Alexander’s arms wrap around his body, still remembers _everything_ , still not _enough._ Another gulp.

“Hey there, Laurens,” he can barely make out the voice and he doesn’t bother to face the stranger, merely shrugging in response as he swallows on the alcohol – _Francis Kinloch,_ his mind tells him faintly and John can hardly make it through, “What are you doing here all alone? Don’t you wanna dance?”

“Not in the mood,” he answers shortly, throwing the plastic cup carelessly as he reaches for another one. He hears Francis chuckle behind him and he ignores it, merely chugging on the alcohol – he’ll stop once he forgets. “What’s so funny?” he asks when he hears Francis chuckle once more, his words coming out slurred, vision blurring as he watches the scenery – dimmed lights, loud music and hormones-crazed teenagers. He suddenly waves at Gilbert – who’s leading a pretty lady out the house. Gilbert enthusiastically waves back, pointing to the curly-haired woman beside him as he walks her out. John laughs, shaking his head.

“You,” Francis answers and, if John were looking at him, he’d notice the way Francis glances at him, “Slow down on the liquor, Laurens. You don’t want yourself getting drunk so early in the party.”

“Who says?” John responds, chugging continuously, unmindful of the droplets of alcohol in the corner of his lips, “No limits here, Kinloch. I’ll get as drunk as I wanna get.”

Francis laughs. “Alright, spitfire, go get drunk,” he feels Francis inch closer to him, shrugging it off as he finishes another cup, reaching to get another one before he feels Francis grabs his arm and he stares at him accusingly, “Dance with me before you get your third cup?”

John contemplates – dancing with Francis would make him feel better, feel a little less lonely but drowning in the alcohol would make him forget. He shrugs and takes Francis’ hands, leading them both to the dance floor. They squeeze through the crowded dancefloor, giggling to themselves at the looks the others send them. Rock and Roll – John can’t tell which specifically – plays in the background and they dance to themselves, careless of the world around them and lost in the music.

John forgets and forgets and forgets, losing himself in Francis’ golden eyes and pretty face, losing himself in the booming music, losing himself in the alcohol that blurs his mind. He and Francis dance to countless songs and he feels free, free from any cages trapping him in, free from any books reminding him he’s sin. _Free._

“Fran,” John says, laughing at Francis’ lousy dancing moves, shaking his head, “Danced with you already. Wanna drink now.”

Francis pouts, ruffling John’s curls. “Aw, one more song please?” Francis says, arms lazily resting on John’s shoulders, whining as he tries to keep John on the floor, “Come on, Johnny, last song and you can drink as much as you want.”

“Ah-ah,” John says, “You said if I danced with you, I could drink. I already danced with you – more than I should have – so I’ll be excusing myself out,” he walks out, trying his hardest to bump into anyone, “Maybe, later though!”

He hears Francis yell out a response but he doesn’t bother to make it out through the booming music. He walks back to the table of drinks in clumsy steps, staggering in each one. He takes another cup and finishes it in one gulp, swaying along the music as he continues to douse himself in alcohol, the effect addicting.

Soon, he’s lost count of how many cups he’s had, staring blankly at the mess he’s made on the table. He’s sure no one would mind.

He sees Francis dancing, smiling and tries to walk back to the dancefloor, only to be stopped by a body and he bumps into it, grunting. As soon as he composes himself, apologies at the tip of his tongue, but, as he looks up, his face darkens.

_Charles Lee._

“Watch where you’re going next time, _faggot_ ,” Lee sneers, face twisting in, perhaps, the ugliest way John has ever seen in his eighteen years of living, “Maybe, next time you’ll also watch what you’re wearing. You’re an embarrassment of a man, Laurens – wearing a dress like that. Fucking pathetic.”

Lee’s words doesn’t shake him – he’s heard it too much to be shaken. “ _I’m_ the one pathetic?” he snorts, rolling his eyes, his tone mocking and condescending, “Yeah, sure, Lee, keep believing the lies you tell to yourself,” at this point, it’s the alcohol talking for him – _in vino veritas_ , “But we all know you’re the one secretly jerking off the pictures of me,” Lee’s face reddens, “Aw, ain’t that cute? You embarrassed you find me hot, huh, Lee?”

And he has more to say, more to spit in Lee’s face and he would have, if not for the hand on his shoulder, holding him back. He looks up, heart racing when he sees Alex standing by his side. And as green meets violet, John feels his resistance crumbling to pieces, fading into the air as if it were never there in the first place – with Alex, John thinks so.

“John, that’s enough,” and _fuck_ only now does he realize how much he missed the way Alex’s voice curled around his name, “You’ve drank too much. Lay it off.”

John’s fists clench, struggling to resist the overwhelming urge to throw it against Lee’s face. His resolve breaks and he sighs, nodding, letting Alex lead him out.

“That’s right!” he hears Lee call, “Run to your man whore! Disgusting fucking faggots, get the fuck out of here!”

Red consumes his vision and anger overwhelms the best of him. He lets himself go from Alex’s grip and throws a punch right into Lee’s face, the sound of a cracked nose satisfying in his ears. He throws another one and another one and another one, unrelenting and unyielding.

“ _John_ ,” Alex hisses, pulling him up, grip tightening when John tries to squirm out of his arms, “Stop that. We’re going out of here, you got that? You’re gonna say goodbye to your sister and Gilbert and we’re going outta here, alright? You’re not gonna get another drink or get into another fight or dance with someone else. You’re gonna say goodbye and we _will_ leave. Got that, Jack?”

John looks down, eyes glassy with tears, nodding. “Yes.”

Alex hums, leading him to Pat – Gilbert, nowhere to be found. John keeps his gaze on the floor as he speaks.

“We’re going now, Pat,” he says, meek, “We’re gonna take the car.”

“‘Kay,” Pat responds, shrugging, “I’ll ride with Catty.”

John follows Alex mindlessly, his body locked in a cringe, movements pliant under Alex’s arms.

**x**

“Would you explain what the hell was that?”

“I was only defending –” _you_ , “– myself! He was… calling me things.”

Alex’s face softens, heart twisting as he gazes down on John, a hesitant hand reaching to cup John’s cheeks, tilting his head to meet his eyes. “Remember what I said, Jack?” Alex asks, thumb tracing John’s pretty petal lips and, as he feels it once more under his fingertips, he feels butterflies fluttering in his belly, “Do you remember, baby?”

John’s eyes flutter close, leaning into Alex’s touch, lips quivering. “Look at you while you speak to me?” he guesses. Alex laughs and John thinks it’s the prettiest thing he has ever heard.

“Close but no,” he says, shaking his head, “They don’t matter, John. Not your father, not Lee, no one.”

John tenses at his words, eyes narrowing into slits, pushing Alex away in brief movements, looking away. “No, you don’t get to say that to _me_ ,” he sharply says and each words leave a wound in Alex’s chest, “Not when you pretend like I don’t exist after you fuck me,” he spits the word out like poison, “What, is that how you see me, huh, Alex? Am I just a toy to you? Just because… because I’m different, doesn’t mean you get to take advantage of that,” he shakes, looking up into the sky, a dark canvas littered with stars, “I… I don’t deserve that, Alex.”

“No, John, you don’t,” his chest tightens when John still refuses to look at him, flinching away, “You don’t deserve that. You deserve better. You deserve someone that isn’t _me_ ,” John glances sharply over his shoulder and Alex takes a deep breath, “John, you know the things Lee said. Imagine what else horrible things he – the whole world – would say to you if they found out about us,” he puts a cautious hand on John’s shoulder, “I know I’ve said a million times about how they don’t matter but they do, John, they _do._ They’ll… they’ll send us to therapy and tell us to recite Leviticus every day and I don’t want to see you like that because you don’t deserve it, John. You deserve the best things in life and I’m not one of them.”

“We’re not wrong, Alex,” John whispers in a small voice. _Crack_.

“No,” Alex says, squeezing John’s shoulders, “The world thinks we’re wrong.”

John turns around abruptly, both hands cupping Alex’s cheeks. “Then, let’s forget about the world, Alex,” John whispers against his lips, “Remember what you said? Just focus on you and me? Let’s do that, Alex. Let’s run far, far away where they can’t find us. Just us two, just you and me, just each other.”

“John –”

“I know,” John’s hands retreat to his sides, a hopeless glimmer flicking in his eyes, “That’s not how the world works. Just…” he hesitates, “… tell me you care – care about me, about us. Please.”

“I care more than I could ever say, John,” he pulls John in an embrace, breathing in his scent, “I’m sorry, John. The way I treated you after that night. I panicked and I know what I did wasn’t fair to you and I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I care about you too, Alex,” John whispers, arms tightening around him, the words a sweet melody to Alex’s ears, “More than I could say in words.”

Alex thinks that, even if it’s just for this moment, he could forget about the world.

**x**


	6. my church offers no absolutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John sighs as he pulls the sweater over him, longingly staring at the spot where Alex had just stood moments ago.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is basically me hating on children

“Jack, wake up.”

John groans, burying his further into Alex’s neck, holding him tighter, refusing to let go. Alex laughs fondly, tilts John’s chin and presses a messy peck on his beautiful lips. “Come on, Jacky, I still have to take a bath,” he reminds him gently, licking a stripe on John’s cheek messily, laughing when John pushes Alex away, wiping the spit from his cheek furiously, “You’re so beautiful, Jack, you know.”

“Don’t lick my cheek with that morning breath,” John murmurs, scooting closer, wrapping his arms around Alex, “Don’t go back to New York. Stay here forever – with me.”

“Wish I could, Jack,” Alex mutters against the top of John’s head, his body boneless under John’s warmth, “But I have to. Still got a lot to do, you know.”

“Do me instead,” John teases, a loose smile on his lips, eyes fluttering close as he yawns. Alex smiles.

“Jack, I really have to get up,” he says, trying to wriggle out of John’s arms, “They might leave me here if I don’t take a bath this moment.”

“Let them,” John sleepily murmurs, sighing as he attempts to bury himself further into Alex’s warmth, pouting when Alex sends him a pointed look, hands on his shoulders, steadying him, “Oh, alright, fine,” he says, letting go and turning over his back, refusing to face Alex, “You wanna go so bad? Then, go.”

“Aw, don’t pout, Jacky,” Alex teases from behind him, pinching his sides, “We’ll see each other soon. There’s an event –”

“Don’t say that, Alex,” John says, “This is the last time we’ll see each other as –” he promptly turns over, pointing to him and Alex, “– _us._ ”

“That’s not true, John,” Alex softly says, cupping John’s cheek. John shakes his head, hand gripping Alex’s arm.

“Yes, it is, Alex,” John sharply reminds him, “After this, we’ll soon be in college doing whatever we have to do and you’ll find yourself some pretty wife and have even prettier kids and –”

“John, this is not a summer fling,” Alex says, “I’m not gonna forget you. Even if I wanted to, I don’t think I could.”

“Neither could I, Alex,” he pecks Alex’s lips, short and brief, “But I’m just being realistic here. Soon, everyone will expect you to get married and that just leaves me out of the equation.”

“You’ll always be a part of me,” Alex whispers, “That’s what you get for being so unforgettable.”

John’s cheeks flush. “You are _so_ cheesy,” he says, teasing as he pushes Alex away, turning over to stand from the bed, “Go take a bath. Your morning breath stinks.”

“Sure, lovely,” Alex stands from the bed, smacking John’s ass before he walks out the room, “I’m really gonna miss that sweet ass, though.”

“I’m sure you will,” John deadpans, rolling his eyes as he walks to his closet, pulling out a sweater, looking back to glare at Alex, “Just take a bath, Alex! Jesus.”

“Alright, alright,” Alex says, raising his hands in surrender as he leaves John’s room, the door closing with a dull thud. John sighs as he pulls the sweater over him, longingly staring at the spot where Alex had just stood moments ago. He swallows as he walks out his room, his chest tightening in knots. He walks to the living room and flinches when he sees Pat situated on the sofas, arms crossed and scowling. He gulps as he takes a seat beside her, silence in the air.

“Pat,” he says, eyes nervously flicking, “Are you alright? You’re never up this early.”

Pat stares at him, eyes bloodshot and he aches to pull her in an embrace. “Jack,” she starts, voice scratchy, lips quivering, “You…” she clears his throat, her stare accusing, “…I saw you.”

His palms start to clam. “Saw me?” he repeats, “What do you mean?”

“You and Alex,” and John feels his blood run cold, breath caught in his throat, “That night. When you two went back to your bedroom, I followed. Saw you suck his dick.”

He flushes from humiliation, chest heaving with hollow breaths, head racing with uncontrollable thoughts as he tries to comprehend Pat’s words, heart thrumming against his chest as he freezes up, body cringing into a lock. He breathes in, trying to calm himself, his mind and his heart, trying to keep his emotions – threatening to spill out – at bay. “Oh,” he lets out with a shaking breath, mouth dry of words, “Oh, okay.”

Pat doesn’t mind him, continues to speak. “You’re queer.”

His body quivers. “Are you mad?” he manages out.

Pat stares at him, calculating. “I don’t know, Jack,” she says, honest in her words, “Dad always told us queers were an abomination to the world. I’ve grown to believe that but… but I don’t _know_ , Jack,” her nails scrape against the skin of her palm, staring at John with teary eyes, “You’re my brother and I don’t think I can ever think of you as a sin,” she takes her upper lip between her teeth, playing with her hands, “You’re my brother and I’ll always love you, no matter what the world says.”

“You’re not disgusted?” he asks, vulnerable.

“What you and Alex are –” she starts, taking his hands in hers, “– I’m not used to it but it’s not in my position – or the world’s – to dictate who you should love,” she smiles, sneaky and teasing, “Or fuck, in your case.”

John exhales, a hesitant smile gracing his face. “You’re really not mad?”

“Jack,” Pat says, “I could never, not when you’ve done anything wrong,” she smiles at him when he sniffles, wiping away the fallen tears from his cheeks, “And, you do know what they say – if the dick fits, suck it.”

John blushes, pushing Pat away. “Jesus fuck, Pat,” he curses, fondly smiling, “I’m pretty sure no one says that,” he pauses, staring at her, “…is that why you’ve been acting like such a bitch yesterday at Kinloch’s party?”

Pat shrugs, careless. “Hey,” she says, raising her hands to her defense, “I just found out my brother has been the one sucking my crush’s dick. You can’t blame me.”

John laughs. “I love you so much, Pat,” he says, smiling, “You’re the best sister I could have ever asked for.”

She smiles, patting his cheek. “Me too, Jack,” then, she clears her throat, “Now, let’s stop sissying and say goodbye to the Washingtons,” she stands up, throwing a look to her brother, winking, “And your boyfriend.”

She leaves the room before John can think of a comeback. He smiles, breathing in and leaning against the sofa, thinking what the hell _sissying_ meant.

**x**

“We thank you for your hospitality, Henry.”

Alex crosses his arms, staring lazily against the glass window, faintly smiling when John waves at him. He breathes out a sigh of relief when George finally goes in their car, feeling as if he’s one moment away from losing his sanity if he hears one more word spew out of that asshole Laurens’ mouth. He wonders how that liar of a father raised such a saint of a son – _John._

“I hooked up with a girl,” Gilbert says and Alex can’t help the groan that pasts his lips, face palming, ignoring the glare Gilbert sends his way, “Her name is Adrienne. She is very beautiful. I plan to marry her.”

Martha makes a surprised noise. “That fast?” she says, teasing, “I wish you father were the same. _I_ had to be the one to propose because he kept overthinking the whole situation.”

“Martha, we agreed to never speak of that,” George pouts before he stares at Gilbert through the car mirror, “And you better not have impregnated the girl out of wedlock. I take it you used protection?”

Gilbert gasps, hand grasping his chest in mock hurt. “Father,” he says, dramatic and Alex merely rolls his eyes at his brother’s theatrics, “How could you doubt me like that? Of course, I used protection.”

George shrugs. “Just checking, son.”

“And, how about you, Alex?” Martha asks, “Have you found a girl in South Carolina?”

 _No but I found a boy._ “I don’t want to get married,” he says easily, “I want to focus on my political career first. Having a wife – and, possibly, children – will only hinder me,” he smiles when George and Martha chuckle, “Besides, children are a pain in the ass and a waste of money. I know that first-hand.”

“How do _you_ know that?” Gilbert asks, offended, “You’ve never raised any children yourself.”

“Yes, I did,” he says, “I grew up with you.”

Gilbert growls and threatens to swat him. Alex snorts, sticking his tongue out.

“Children, children,” George chides, chuckling, “I believe Martha and I are the ones raising children,” he says, “And we can confirm – from first-hand experience – that children, truly and honestly, are not worth it.”

“Now, that is just mean,” Gilbert whines, arms crossed, “I was planning to have, at the very least, five children with my Adrienne.”

“Sounds like a nightmare,” Alex comments, shuddering. George and Martha share amused looks.

“At least, I have plans for my future,” Gilbert retorts, red in the face, “You know you can’t keep making out in your bedroom with Jo –” Alex glares at him, miming him to shut his lips and keep his words in, “– Johanna.”

“What?” Martha asks, “I thought you didn’t find any –”

“How about let’s not talk about my sex life?” Alex says, raising his hands, glaring at Lafayette, “Which, unlike some people here, I like to keep private,” Lafayette shrugs and Alex snorts, scooting closer to the front seat, “When will the Schuylers host that ball – the one where everyone is supposed to attend?”

George hums, thinking. “Somewhere in the next two weeks,” his brows furrow, “Maybe at the third week of September? I’m not really sure. I’ll ask Philip about it, don’t worry.”

Alex silently harrumphs. _Two more weeks and I’ll see John once again._

“Why are you suddenly excited?” Martha asks, smirking in Alex’s way, “You expecting to see a special someone? What was her name – Johanna?”

Alex groans, leaning against his seat as he throws a glare over to Gilbert’s way, aching to spit a million curses right into his face. “Do you guys know the tailor’s son?” he sneakily asks – merely for retaliation – nearly yelping when Gilbert tries to hit him.

**x**


	7. no sweeter innocence than our gentle sin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pat’s eyes comically widen when she spots Alex and John walking out of the secluded halls, their hair mussed and lips swollen, snickering to herself when she notices John limping.

“I don’t want anyone misbehaving tonight.”

He stares pointedly at John – who only responds with a shrug, body itching from the scratchy suit his father forced on him. “This gala is important for my career,” he continues on, “I can’t have any of you ruining any opportunities for me and you two are lucky I allowed you to come when you should have been at home, babysitting your siblings.”

John and Pat share a look, shaking their head. Henry glares at them both before he walks in the room, ushering them two to follow.

John huffs, squirming in his suit. Pat laughs beside him, snorting.

“Don’t laugh at me when you’re wearing that,” John snaps, eyeing his sister’s sickeningly-pink dress, nearly gagging at the sudden burst of color, “You look like someone threw up candy all over you.”

“Fuck you,” Pat seethes under her breath, eyes squinted, then she snorts, “But I bet you’d like Alex to do that.”

John’s cheeks burn red, swatting Pat swiftly. “Martha,” he hisses as they both take a seat, “Stop talking like that. Someone might hear you,” he looks around, glaring, “If dad hears you and finds out, I am gonna hit you, Martha Laurens.”

Pat shrugs, sticking her tongue out. “Calm your ass down, Jack,” she says, snorting as she sips on her juice, “Look who I found,” she points at the table to their left and John twists his neck to look, “There’s your lover boy.”

John’s heart warms as he catches sight of Alex animatedly talking to his brother – who only responds in short grunts. His chest clenches in gentle fondness, lips twisting into a smile as he shakes his head in amusement, forcing himself to look away before any of the two catches him staring. His palms start to clam in sheer excitement, ignoring his sister’s knowing gaze. He clears his throat, taking a sip of his water. Pat snorts beside him, standing from her chair as she shouts Alex’s name over her lungs. John can only stare in horror, shrugging when his father sends him a dirty look.

“Alex, over here!” he hears Pat yell – embarrassingly loud, John notes. He shies away from her, gaze stuck on the plate when he hears the approaching footsteps. He silently curses Pat in his mind, a timid smile on his face when he looks up to meet Alex’s gaze. He hears his father curse angrily under his breath, walking away from their table and all John can think of is _good riddance._ He scoffs, smile brightening when Alex takes a seat beside him, shaking his head at the suggestive wiggle of brows Pat throws his way. He turns to Alex, heart thrumming.

“Hi,” he says, breathless. Alex chuckles, running his hand over John’s curls.

“Hi yourself,” he says and only now does John realize how much he’s missed Alex, “I missed you.”

John’s heart flutters. “Missed you more, though,” he says, cheeks puffing when Alex rolls his eyes, “Are you sure you want to seat here? People might say you’re betraying your family.”

Alex laughs and John wishes to hear nothing else. “It’s fine,” he says, fingers threading through John’s curls, “I like the drama,” his thumb ghosts over his forehead, tracing constellations over his freckles, cooing, “But I like you more.”

John groans, rolling his eyes, pushing Alex away. “Jesus,” John says, snorting, “You and Pat are the same – so fucking cheesy,” he remarks, staring at his sister – who managed to slither her way to the Schuylers’ table, excitedly conversing with Margarita Schuyler, “At least, she seems to be enjoying herself. I hate these events, so fucking boring. All I hear here are liars lying.”

“Someone’s bitter,” Alex states amusedly, pinching the tip of John’s nose, earning himself a cute, little pout from John, “It’s alright, honey. I get it. Politicians really suck.”

“You want to be a politician,” John says, eyes squinted.

Alex shrugs, taking a sip of the sparkling water, eyes crinkled in amusement. “Only cause I want to change the world.”

“With lies, yeah?”

He flicks John’s forehead, pouting. “You’re so mean, Jacky,” he says, “I thought you trusted me.”

“You’re a liar-in-training, babe,” he shrugs, “How can I?”

Alex lets out an offended huff, turning away from John, chair screeching against the floor as he scoots away. John only laughs, taking Alex’s hand in his, playing with his fingers.

“You’re such a baby, ‘Lex,” he remarks, rolling his eyes, “Of course, I trust you or –” he looks around, leaning closer to whisper in Alex’s ear, “– I wouldn’t have let you fuck my ass.”

Alex stiffens, glaring at John. “Jack,” he hisses under his breath, shifting to hide the outline of his hardening cock, to which John only responds with a smug smirk, “You can’t say shit like that in public. Someone might hear you.”

“Aw,” he pouts, “But I miss your cock.”

Alex’s cheeks turn a deeper shade, breath hitching. “John,” he draws out, placing a hand on John’s thigh, “Stop it.”

For once, John doesn’t acquiesce to Alex’s orders. Rather, he grins slyly, alike to the Cheshire cat’s, before he turns away, humming when the speaker at the stage calls for the crowd’s attention. John slowly pushes away Alex’s hand from his thigh, trying to focus on the words coming out of the speaker’s mouth, shaking the thoughts away.

“…the president’s speech!” John’s ears perk up. He hears the crowd clapping and joins, brows raised in curiosity. He turns over to look at Alex – whose eyes are sparkling with excitement, his body locked in a nervous stance. He chuckles when he turns away, nearly cooing. In his peripheral, he can see the famed president stepping into the stage, the clapping coming to a stop as the crowd lets the president speak. He doesn’t bother to listen – he knows he won’t care, anyways. He side-eyes Alex, smiling at his fascinated expression. Subtly, he scoots closer to Alex, the sound minimal, and, for once, is grateful for the silk spread draped over the table as his hand trails over Alex’s thigh, tracing soft letters unto the skin. Alex’s attention is undeterred and he eagerly continues to listen to the president’s speech, blatantly ignoring John. He frowns but continues his ministrations, hand caressing Alex’s thigh.

John quickly looks around, pleased to find everyone’s attention on the president. His lips twist into a coy smile as he moves his hand, ghosting over Alex’s crotch. His eyes briefly flick over to Alex – whose chest heaves with labored breaths but he doesn’t pay one glance in John’s way, gaze stuck on the president. He hums, facing away as his hand slowly palms Alex’s cock – which, John amusedly notes, has sprung up into an erection. He continues to give it languid strokes, face impressively nonchalant as he does so. He looks at Alex’s way – cheeks flushed and palms gripping on the table. Alex meets his gaze with a glare and John only smiles cockily, his strokes quickening. He stops for a minute, looking innocently at Alex when he throws a glare over his way. Nimble fingers undo Alex’s pants, pushing down his briefs as he smears precum all over. His two fingers scoop a handful and, with a smirk, brings it up to his mouth, sucking around his fingers. He nearly moans at the bitter taste.

Alex growls, eyes darkening in arousal. John can see him quickly fixing himself and buttoning his pants, gulping when Alex forcibly brings down John’s fingers from his mouth, sticky with spit. His tongue licks over his lower lip as he gazes down at it. He looks up at John and stands from his chair, pulling John along with him. John opens his mouth to protest, quickly scanning if they’ve brought attention to themselves but Alex ignores him, a tight grip on his wrist as he’s led away from the main room. They walk through the empty hallways and a little, pathetic whimper escapes out of John’s throat when Alex tightens his grip on John’s wrist.

John whines when Alex slams him up against the wall, his wrists pinned to the wall by Alex’s hand, swallowing when Alex’s eyes rake over him. John grips on Alex’s tie with his other hand and pulls him into a furious kiss, an unabashed moan lost in the kiss. Their tongues entwine gracelessly, moving messily with each other, both desperate for more. Alex pulls away, shoves three of his fingers into John’s mouth. John sucks easily around his fingers, head lolling back when Alex starts to thrust his fingers in and out of John’s mouth, readily meeting each thrust.

“Slut,” Alex spits out, condescending, “Wanted me to embarrass myself right in front of the president, didn’t you? Couldn’t wait till we went home cause you’re just _so_ desperate for my cock, aren’t you?” John moans around his fingers, lashes fluttering, “Fucking cockslut,” he leans closer, voice ghosting over John’s ear, “Maybe I should’ve just bent you over the table and fucked you right there and then in front of everyone,” John’s tongue swirls around his fingers, eyes dazed, whimpering when Alex presses his arousal against John’s, “Bet you would’a liked that, huh? Wanted me to show everyone how good you take my cock, didn’t you? And you would moan like the good whore you are,” his eyes flutter close when Alex’s fingers rest on the tip of his tongue, whining as he imagines Alex taking him in front of everyone to watch, spit pooling around the corners of his mouth and dripping gratuitously down his chin, “Just imagine, baby. I would pound into you while the president watched and all you’ll do is ask for more because you’re a slut, aren’t you?”

John nods fervently, droplets of tears streaking his cheeks. Alex’s eyes narrow.

“Answer me,” he orders, tone nothing less of authoritative, grinding against John’s erection. John’s eyes fly open and he gasps, a choking sound, back arching. He retracts his fingers from John’s mouth, wrapping them around John’s throat. “I said –” he presses harder, eliciting a high-pitched moan from John, “– answer,” his grip around his throat tightens, “– _me_.”

“Yes, yes, yes!” John gasps out when Alex lets go, sobbing freely, “‘M’your slut, ‘Lex. Only yours,” he grinds against Alex’s clothed cock, the sensations sending him thrashing, “Please fuck me, ‘Lex, I’ll do anything _please._ ‘Lex, please, fuck me, fuck me please. Fuck me until I can’t walk anymore, please. Fuck, fuck me so loud, Alex, let everyone hear. Fuck your little slut, Alex, Alex –”

Alex groans, pulling John into a heated kiss. He pulls away briefly, leading them both into a room. He slams the door close, quickly undressing. John follows the suit, clumsy fingers buttoning his shirt open. Clothes fall unto the floor and Alex gazes hungrily at John’s nude, freckles body splayed out in the open. He grabs John by his hips and forces him down the table, spreading his legs apart, mouth shamelessly watering at John’s puckered hole. He walks away and to the pile of clothes to grab the discarded bottle of oil, chuckling at John’s needy whines. Once he’s found the miniature bottle, he walks to John and folds his legs, back against the table – _obscene_ , Alex thinks. He squirts some a handful of oil unto his fingers and, without warning, slips one easily into John’s hole, greedily swallowing his digits. John cries out, hips bucking for more. Alex easily slips another, scissoring John’s hole open with quick pumps.

“Alex,” John forces out, a choked moan forced out of the back of his throat when Alex’s fingers brushes against his prostate, “Alex, m’ready. Please fuck me, please,” he groans, throwing his head back when Alex inserts another finger, “Alex, please, please fuck me. I’ve been waiting so long.”

It goes ignored by Alex – whose transfixed by the sight of John’s tight hole clenching around the entirety of his fingers. “Ask nicely, baby doll,” he says, looking up to meet John’s eyes, simultaneously thrusting his three fingers into John, the latter keening, “Come on, babe, ask me for my cock.”

“Alex,” John wails, hips eagerly meeting Alex’s thrust, “Fuck me, please, please, fuck my ass, my mouth, my hole – Alex, _please_ , please make me come, make me come with your large dick, please, Alex, please,” he releases a choked sound when Alex inserts another finger, hitching, “ ‘Lex, please, please, fuck me and, and make me your _bitch_ –”

Alex chokes on his own breath – John’s words going straight to his dick. He retracts his fingers, quickly spurting oil unto his fingers and smearing it around his cock, moaning at the friction his quick strokes send him. Alex lazily gazes at John as he languidly strokes his length, coating it with oil, breath caught in his throat when he sees John hump against nothing, his whole fluttering at the sudden emptiness. He lets out a groan, manhandling John out of the table, quickly turning him around to face the table and shoving him down, his pretty ass up in the air. John keens when the tip of Alex’s dick teases his hole, fingers gripping the table.

“So pretty like this, aren’t you?” Alex praises, hands kneading John’s cheeks apart, “My beautiful, beautiful, slutty baby doll.”

“Alexander, please _just_ –” he pants out, preening at the praise, pushing his hips backwards mindlessly, desperate for friction. Alex grunts, ramming the rest of his cock into John, groaning at the tight heat around his length. John lets out a cry when Alex pushes himself in, hips dipping to entice Alex into _finally_ moving. “Alex, please, move, move,” he cries out, pleading, whining when Alex grips on both of his hips, keeping him in place, “ _Alex._ ”

“Stay still, doll, I’ve got you,” he thrusts experimentally, slow and sweet, pulling until only the tip of his cock is sucked in by John’s tight hole and, with a low grunt, slams back into John, shoving the rest of his dick in, reveling in John’s sweet keening as he does so. He doesn’t try to slow himself down after that. His pace is relentless and he watches in both fascination and arousal as John’s rear bounces with every thrust of his cock, drowning in John’s drawn-out whines and bitten-off whimpers and the sweet _uh, uh, uh_ noises that he forces out of John’s throat every time he slams back in. The lewd noise of slick skin slapping against together rings repeatedly in Alex’s ears, combined with John’s whimpers and his grunts. He throws his head back, sweat sticking to his skin, as he jerks his hips, aiming for a different angle.

“ _Alex_ , fuck, Alex!” John gasps, back bowing, pushing himself closer into Alex, “There, there, there!” he sobs out when Alex slides his cock right into the bundle of nerves, head overcoming with heat, lost in the sensation of Alex’s thick cock thrusting right into his ass, head hanging loosely as he tries to hold himself on the table, stray curls sticking to his forehead, elbows against the wood. Alex’s pace quickens, hips stuttering and John tightens around his cock, letting out a strangled noise when Alex nails his prostate. “‘Lex, m’close, so close!”

“Touch yourself for me, baby,” Alex whispers, grunting, his thrusts becoming less precise, merely chasing his sweet release, lost in between the warm, tight heat inside John. John garbles out a messy string of sentences, desperate noises bubbling at his throat as he slowly strokes his cock, the slow friction against his cock and Alex’s cock stretching him wide is enough to sate his overwhelming need, reaching his peak with an arched back, letting out a moan, long and drawn-out, as he releases all over himself, body going boneless against the table. Alex curses at the sight and pounds into John, grip tightening when John clenches around him. He reaches his high with a guttural moan, coming inside of John.

John whimpers when he feels the filthy slide of Alex’s cum inside him. Much to his chagrin, Alex pulls out and he slumps against the table, barely holding his own weight. He hears Alex chuckle and helps him stand upright, looping an arm around John’s waist.

“You alright, Jack?” he says, situating John on the table. He walks to the pile of their discarded garments, promptly slipping on his.

“I can’t feel my legs,” John slurs out, pouting when Alex laughs, “Don’t be mean. You did this to me.”

“You act like as if you didn’t ask for it,” Alex snorts, leaning down to pick up the rest of John’s clothes, walking to John’s way. He places the rest of the garments down the table and slides on John’s pants, chest warming with fondness at the little, shy grin that John sends his way. “Up, baby,” he says and, once John raises his hips, Alex fastens his pants. In swift movements, Alex slips John’s remainder of garments on the latter.

“Don’t ever leave me again, ‘Lex,” John whispers against his lips, pulling Alex close by his messy tie, “I want to stay with you forever.”

Alex grins, blinding. “You sure, Jack?” he says, brushing away John’s stray curls from his forehead, and all John can think is _how can he not be_ , “Forever’s a real long time. You might get sick of me.”

“I could never get sick of you, even if I tried to,” and, with that, he kisses Alex – soft and sweet and all John could ever ask for. Their lips move together in graceful movements and John knows he’s willing to spend forever with his Alex and maybe, if the fates allow it, longer than that.

Much, _much_ longer than that.

**x**

“It’s fucking bullshit, I tell you all.”

Angie cheers, raising another glass to her lips, eagerly sipping away the wine. “Isn’t it?” she says, shaking her head, “Men expect us to do the cooking and the cleaning and all that fucking domestic shit. As if I’ll ever get married,” she scoffs, taking another gulp, “Men are stupid and gross and I’d rather die than get pregnant with their ugly dicks.”

Pat bursts in laughter, nodding. “Should’ve spent time with y’all long ago,” she remarks, wrapping an arm around Peggy’s shoulders, bringing the girl closer, “And now I know the truth!” she takes a sip, “Can y’all believe I used to have a crush on Alex Washington?”

Peggy snorts, stealing a sip from Pat’s cup. “Eliza, too,” she points to her sister – who, unlike them all, clears away from the alcohol and timidly sits on her chair, “Then, she met a pretty gal from…” she pauses, “…South Carolina, too, I think? M’not sure. Where’d you meet her, ‘Liza? And what was her name again? Mary –”

Eliza’s face flushes. “Peggy!” she hisses, glaring, “There’s company.”

Peggy and Angie turn to her, fierce glares in their eyes. Pat gulps, visibly shrinking.

“You promise not to tell anyone?” Peggy says and Pat almost coos, her tone childlike.

“If you do, I’ll cut off your tongue and feed you –” Angie starts, only to be stopped by Eliza.

“Angie, calm down with the threats and let the poor girl speak,” Eliza sends a kind smile over to Pat’s way, to which she is tremendously grateful for.

“Hey,” she shrugs, taking a sip of her wine, “I ain’t no god or shit like that. I don’t have the right to say who you should kiss or who you should not,” and another gulp, “It’s your life, your shit, you know what I mean? Besides, there are bigger problems we should be worrying about than who people love.”

Peggy whoops in the air, effortlessly bringing Pat into her lap, ignoring the other girl’s sputtering. “We have a winner, ladies and ladies!”

Pat’s eyes comically widen when she spots Alex and John walking out of the secluded halls, their hair mussed and lips swollen, snickering to herself when she notices John limping. “Al! Jack!” she calls out, waving to them, “Seat here!”

Alex and John walk over their way. He takes a seat behind Angie, fist-bumping with her, and looks up at John expectantly – who still hasn’t taken a seat.

“What’s wrong, Jack?” Alex asks, concerned. John’s face burns red and Pat watches with blatant amusement, snickering into her glass. “Are you alright?”

“I can’t sit,” he speaks in a hushed voice, only loud enough for the table to hear. Pat throws her head back, engulfed in laughter.

“What?” Angie asks, confused, “What’s so funny?”

Alex smirks, leaning up to pinch John’s cheeks. “You’re so damn adorable, Jack,” he says, shaking his head in amusement, “Come sit on my lap. I’m sure it’s soft enough for you to lay on.”

Pat laughs again, unabashed, ignoring the glare John throws her way.

“I hate you all,” John mutters under his breath, looking around, pleased to see the rest of the crowd dissipating to follow the president, and promptly takes a seat on Alex’s lap, wincing, “Ow.”

The sisters each share a look before understanding dawns upon them.

“Jeez, Alex, you didn’t have to go that hard on my poor brother,” she coos, “Does your ass hurt that bad, Jacky? Want a massage right after this, baby bro –”

John rolls his eyes and the sisters can only watch in amusement at the siblings’ banter. “First of all,” he says, flicking Pat’s forehead, “I’m older than you.”

“Wow,” Angelica muses, chuckling into her glass, “You –” she points to Alex, “– and Eliza definitely have a type.”

“What?” they both ask simultaneously.

She motions for Peggy to finish her statement, to which she responds with a sly smirk. “South Carolinians.”

A second of silence before the whole table bursts in an unapologetic laughter, heads thrown back and eyes squinted as giggles erupt out of them. They bask in the moment full of joy and laughter, knowing it might be the last.

**x**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the ending was rly lazy lmao srry


End file.
